Why aren't there more lawyers on boards?

The UK should follow the US's example.

A report studying the rise of so-called "lawyer directors" in the USA Today came to my attention recently. The academic study found that lawyers have become increasingly prevalent on corporate boards; as of 2009, 43 per cent of US companies had lawyer directors on their boards; rising from 24 per cent back in 2000. Indeed the authors of the paper opine that a company with a lawyer on its board has a corporate value typically 9.5 per cent higher than a company without and empirically performs better.

Appointing lawyers onto boards helps to reduce external legal risks whilst also improving internal corporate governance. In the USA there is a dawning realisation that lawyers make valuable board-level directors, as the statistics attest, and a cultural shift is well and truly underway.

In the UK however the boardroom narrative is markedly different. There are only 14 lawyers acting in any capacity on the boards of the FTSE 100 and only 20 qualified lawyers currently on boards of the FTSE 250. Very few general counsels or partners of law firms are making the step up to boardroom level and it begs the question, why this disparity between the US and UK? It is clear that there is a negative mindset amongst CEOs and chairmen of public companies in the UK concerning lawyers serving as executive or non-executive directors on boards. Part of this apprehension stems from the notion that lawyers are skilled craftsmen but not capable of managing businesses nor bringing anything other than endless polemic to boardroom discussions. There also exists a misconception that Limited Liability Partnerships (LLPs) are run as siloed businesses, but in today’s globalised business world large law firms are increasingly run in a form very similar to those of public companies, therefore partners are increasingly required to possess managerial skills to run an LLP successfully. Take my own career as a prime example; as Co-Chief Executive of DLA Piper I have not practiced law for years – my role is strategic and managerial, focussed on the day to day business of developing a global law firm.

The notion that lawyers do not possess the requisite skill set to sit on boards is a patent farce.  I would argue that lawyers have a lot to offer beyond their self-evident legal expertise (whilst not denigrating this offering). Most lawyers generally have the vitally important ability to absorb vast reams of complicated and granular information. Not only does this enable he or she to then précis this information into a clear 'big' picture, it is an essential skill for any board level non-executive (or executive) if he or she is to offer any value-enhancing interpretation of the business.

However at present, deconstructive analysis and corporate governance scrutiny is not always what a UK CEO looks for when considering the makeup of his or her board. Perhaps it is time that public companies started to consider more carefully the benefits of appointing analytical thinkers with a risk-averse and best practice approach to corporate governance. A lot of companies could do with a little more probity of that ilk. Lawyers seeking board level appointments must for their part look to expand their exposure to boards of all kinds, be they businesses, schools, local councils or charities, in order to gain more people management experience and learn to think less like a lawyer and more like a business person. Perhaps then we shall see more lawyers on boards and a cultural shift akin to the US will manifest itself here in the UK.

Photograph: Getty Images

Co-CEO of DLA Piper

Getty
Show Hide image

France is changing: an army stalks the streets and Boris Johnson wanders the Tuileries

Will Self on the militarisation of France, and Boris Johnson at the Foreign Office.

At the corner of the rue D’Hauteville and the rue de Paradis in the tenth arrondissement of Paris is a retro-video-games-themed bar, Le Fantôme, which is frequented by some not-so-jeunes gens – the kind of thirtysomethings nostalgic for an era when you had to go to an actual place if you wanted to enter virtual space. They sit placidly behind the plate-glass windows zapping Pac-Men and Space Invaders, while outside another – and rather more lethal – sort of phantom stalks the sunlit streets.

I often go to Paris for work, and so have been able to register the incremental militarisation of its streets since President Hollande first declared a state of emergency after last November’s terrorist attacks. In general the French seem more comfortable about this prêt-à-porter khaki than we’d probably be; the army-nation concept is, after all, encrypted deep in their collective psyche. The army was constituted as a revolutionary instrument. France was the first modern nation to introduce universal male conscription – and it continued in one form or another right up until the mid-1990s.

Even so, it was surprising to witness the sang-froid with which Parisians regarded the camouflaged phantoms wandering among them: a patrol numbering eight ­infantrymen and women moved up the roadway, scoping out doorways, nosing into passages – but when one peered into Le Fantôme, his assault rifle levelled, none of the boozing gamers paid the least attention. I witnessed this scene the Saturday after Mohamed Lahouaiej-Bouhlel ran amok on the Promenade des Anglais in Nice – it was a little preview of the new state of emergency.

On Monday 18 July the French premier, Manuel Valls, was booed at a memorial service for the victims of the Nice attacks – while Marine Le Pen has been making all the populist running, whipping up anxieties about the enemy within. For many French, the events of the past week – including the failed Turkish coup – are steps along the way limned by Michel Houellebecq in his bestselling novel Submission; a via dolorosa that ends with La Marianne wearing the hijab and France itself annexed by a new caliphate.

Into this febrile drama comes a new player: Boris Johnson, the British Foreign Secretary. What can we expect from this freshly minted statesman when it comes to our relations with our closest neighbour? There is no doubt that Johnson is a Francophile – I’ve run into him and his family at the Tuileries, and he made much of his own francophone status during the referendum campaign. In Paris last winter to launch the French edition of his Churchill biography, Johnson wowed a publication dinner by speaking French for the entire evening. He was sufficiently fluent to bumble, waffle and generally avoid saying anything serious at all.

Last Sunday I attended the Lambeth Country Show, an oxymoronic event for which the diverse inhabitants of my home borough gather in Brockwell Park, south London, for jerked and halal chicken, funfair rides, Quidditch-watching, and “country-style” activities, such as looking at farm animals and buying their products. Wandering among ancient Rastafarians with huge shocks of dreadlocks, British Muslims wearing immaculate white kurtas blazoned with “ASK ME ABOUT ISLAM” and crusty old Brixton punks, I found it quite impossible to rid my mind of the Nice carnage – or stop wondering how they would react if armed soldiers were patrolling, instead of tit-helmeted, emphatically unarmed police.

I stepped into the Royal Horticultural Society marquee, and there they were: the entire cast of our end-of-the-pier-show politics, in vegetable-sculpture form and arrayed for judging. There was Jeremy Corbyn (or “Cornbin”) made out of corncobs – and Boris Johnson in the form of a beetroot, being stabbed in the back by a beetroot Michael Gove. And over there was Johnson again, this time rendered in cabbage. The veggie politicians were the big draw, Brixtonians standing six-deep around them, iPhones aloft.

The animal (as opposed to the vegetable) Johnson has begun his diplomatic rounds this week, his first démarches as tasteless and anodyne as cucumber. No British abandonment of friends after Brexit . . . Coordinated response to terror threat . . . Call for Erdogan to be restrained in response to failed coup . . . Blah-blah, whiff-whaff-waffle . . . Even someone as gaffe-prone as he can manage these simple lines, but I very much doubt he will be able to produce rhetorical flourishes as powerful as his hero’s. In The Churchill Factor: How One Man Made History, Johnson writes of Winnie overcoming “his stammer and his depression and his ­appalling father to become the greatest living Englishman”. Well, I’ve no idea if Bojo suffers from depression now but he soon will if he cleaves to this role model. His Churchill-worship (like so many others’) hinges on his belief that, without Churchill as war leader, Britain would have been ground beneath the Nazi jackboot. It may well be that, with his contribution to the Brexit campaign, Johnson now feels he, too, has wrested our national destiny from the slavering jaws of contingency.

Of course the differences between the two politicians are far more significant: Johnson’s genius – such as it is – lies in his intuitive understanding that politics, in our intensely mediatised and entirely commoditised era, is best conceived of as a series of spectacles or stunts: nowadays you can fool most of the people, most of the time. This is not a view you can imagine associating with Churchill, who, when his Gallipoli stratagem went disastrously wrong, exiled himself, rifle in hand, to the trenches. No, the French people Johnson both resembles and has an affinity for are the ones caught up in the virtual reality of Le Fantôme – rather than those patrolling the real and increasingly mean streets without. 

Will Self is an author and journalist. His books include Umbrella, Shark, The Book of Dave and The Butt. He writes the Madness of Crowds and Real Meals columns for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 21 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The English Revolt